Basics
by LadySilver
Summary: Scott and Allison have some ground rules to set. One-Shot.


_A/N: Fountainxxpenny has been on me to upload this here, and I've run out of excuses for why I won't. So, here it is. Consider this a prequel to "Tell Me, Show Me." This was my first solo foray into Teen Wolf fanfic, written back in July. As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. Thanks for reading._

**Basics**

Allison leaned back to inspect her handiwork, trailing her fingernails down Scott's naked chest as she sat up. He let out a soft moan at the touch, then grabbed her wrists and lifted her hands away from his body. "Are you okay?" she asked. The answer was obvious in his expression. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth soft.

He nodded, released his grip. His hands came to rest of her hips, pushing them down. She accepted the hint and pressed her crotch into his. Through his jeans she felt his hardness. She shifted her position to better line up with him and wiggled again. Sparks of pleasure traveled up from her groin, bringing the promise of much greater pleasure when the jeans fell away. Scott's nostrils flared, his back arched which ground him into her harder. She moaned. "Wait," he gasped.

She pulled up, giving him a chance to do … whatever it was he needed to do. They were on his bed, alone in the house. His mother was working a very conveniently timed late shift. Allison hadn't come over here expecting things to get this physical, though she didn't know what she thought would happen. Maybe some making out, some light petting. They had only just gotten back together and she didn't know how much of their relationship they would have to rebuild, how much trust would need restoring first.

They had started out with a tentative kiss. What began almost chastely quickly turned deeper, their tongues tasting each other, tangling together. Their hands touched each other as if desperate to make up for lost time. It was amazing how quickly their bodies forgave. His shirt came off. She couldn't remember if they had stopped kissing during the removal or if some other kind of magic were involved, but there he was, bare-chested and muscled and all hers. He was working on her shirt. Her bra was long gone. She could feel him fumbling at the buttons that ran down the shirt front. At least half had already given way.

Then he abruptly pushed her back like he had done so many times before. She fought the urge to be offended, to think that he was rejecting her. "I-I need a second," he'd said, and gestured to his eyes. They burned a bright yellow. A visceral thrill spread through her belly at this sign of what she could do to him. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths. The struggle for control played out on his face. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, they were the soft brown that she had first fallen for. "Allison," he'd said, sitting her up so they were facing each other in a less tempting position. He drew another deep breath, sighed. "I don't know if I can do this."

She nodded once in quiet acceptance. "What can I do to help?" she asked.

"You're already helping," he answered, smiled. She couldn't help but smile back, her head dipping down as it always did as if she were shy. "But, this is important—" He waited for her to nod that she was listening—"If I say 'stop,' you need to stop."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" she quipped. Years of sex ed classes and PSAs repeated "no means no" in her head. It sounded wrong from the warning to be coming from a guy. But she could adjust to that, too.

"Like, immediately," he emphasized. "Don't tease me or try to push things. If I lose control…" He tore his gaze away, the expression on his face darkening. She made a mental note to ask him later where his thoughts had gone, when the answer wouldn't destroy the mood completely.

"Isn't losing control kind of the point?" she murmured. She leaned forward, planted a kiss on his nose.

"That's why I don't know if I can do this," he responded. His voice was strained, his brows drawn together. Then, like a switch was flipped, he returned from the dark place. "But, believe me when I say that I really, really want to." He grinned, then, big and asymmetrical. How she loved seeing that grin.

"So we take it slow," she said, shifting closer to him.

"Very slow," he agreed. He closed the gap and found her lips. Falling backward, he pulled her down on top of him. She didn't resist.

"Agonizingly slow," she had amended, speaking around the kiss. One kiss had lead to another with _slow_ getting redefined by the second. She left his lips and ventured down his torso, planting her lips every few millimeters. He made little whimpers under his breath as she went. A tentative bite on one nipple drew a louder noise from him that thrilled her. She laved her tongue over the spot, then bit a little harder just to see if he would make that sound again. He did. She _liked_these noises in a way she had never known she could like a sound and she immediately vowed to do everything she could to hear them as often as possible. That's when she had leaned back. She felt a sudden urge to check Scott's face-not for signs of wolfishness, but just to see what expression belonged to those whimpers.

He was soon pushing down on her hips again, apparently having forgotten that he had been trying to get her shirt off. She resisted this time. "Scott," she said, her voice coming out husky. It startled her; she'd never heard it sound like that before. "Is there anything I should know? Warning signs or triggers …" She trailed off, not sure if the words she was choosing were the right ones for the situation. How did one talk to one's boyfriend about what made him turn into a werewolf? And what didn't? There was this whole realm of _safe__sex_that no one had prepared her for. "…things you can't do at all?" she finished, softer.

"A couple things, maybe," he answered after a long moment, apparently deciding to address only her last question. "Some other things might be … different," he offered.

Well, that was unhelpfully vague. She fought the urge to roll her eyes or resort to sarcasm. Getting answers might turn out to be the least difficult part of their discovery. "How?" she asked, with a growing suspicion that the most difficult part of dating a werewolf might be figuring out the questions.

"You smell so good," he replied. At first she thought he was avoiding the question or hadn't heard it. He swept her hair aside and buried his face in her neck. His exhalations tickled and she squirmed, tried not to giggle. His hands started moving again. One of them worked its way between them, down her shirt. His fingers circled her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple. She gasped. The touch had been so gentle, almost hesitant; the shocks it set loose in her body so far out of proportion. She heard him inhale deeply, felt his chest expand under her. "This is going to kill me," he moaned.

Allison struggled to line up the pieces. Scott's thumb kept making passes, destroying her concentration, especially after his other hand joined the action. She was quivering inside, more with each touch. Then it clicked. He was scenting her arousal. He was showing her a little of how he really was. He was … _trusting _her—fully.

And he was growling.

On one level the growling excited her more; _she_ was doing this _to_ him.

A baser, primitive part of her brain sent a different message: _Run_.

Scott wasn't stopping.

She rolled off him, up on to her knees. Her chest felt chilled without his hands there. A different ache settled in her at having to discontinue their explorations. They would both have to become a lot more vigilant, a lot more _able_ to say no if they ever wanted to say _yes_. "You're—" she started, stumbled over the next word.

"Changing. Too fast," he supplied, adding, "I know," with a frustrated groan. His now empty hands curled into fists and slammed down on to the bed. The mattress jumped with the impact. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She surprised herself at how much she meant that. "We'll just have to keep practicing."

"You'd do that?" he asked, sounding amazed.

In answer, she gave him the smile that was all dimples, the one she knew he was helpless to.

END


End file.
